by Gaby Triana
“That’s sexist. Speaking of which, flashlights are for sissies,” I tell him.
He finally arrives at my head, the toe of his sneaker touching my hair, and shines the Maglite right into my face. “Only one way to find out if that’s true,” he says, dropping his voice a notch, his legs wide apart in a studly stance.
I squint. “Spare me. Turn that stupid thing off, you’re messing up my night vision.”
“Ooh, night vision,” he says, planting his butt next to me, the familiar scent of Rock infiltrating my space. Coconut SPF lotion and musky skin. Not a bad combo, I assure you. “For you, my queen.” He hands me a Styrofoam takeout container. “Sorry for running off on you earlier.”
My queen? I raise an eyebrow at him.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you’ve been acting weird.”
“And that alarms you because…”
“True. You’re always weird,” I say, but I’m recognizing the familiar Rock pattern, the one where he starts latching on to me whenever things go sour with Amber, so I change the subject. “What is this?” I pop open the container, revealing a glorious slice of caramel flan.
He hands me a plastic spoon. “A gift from Ricardo’s.”
“Thanks.” I dig right in and start devouring my present.
“So what are we looking at tonight?”
“Nrff.”
“Same thing we look at every night?” he answers for me. “Why do you look so damn far up for things, Chloé? When everything you need is down here?” He lies on his back, turns toward me, then stares at me for a while.
I hold the spoon with my mouth and slap his stupendicular arm. Crikey! “Shtop that.” I glide the spoon through another velvety slice of heaven. “So what happened to you?”
He leans back on his elbows, and if it weren’t for that whole friend thing, I would so lay my hand on his arm. “I went to see Amber.”
“Ugh.”
“I know, but I’m pretty sure it’s over this time.”
“Again?”
“I think she’s seeing someone else.”
“An exorcist, probably.”
“Chloé…” he warns. “Be nice. I think it might be King Doof.”
“What?” I squint, holding up my spoon. “Vince wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He pauses. His chest rises and falls slowly. “He can have her.”
I roll my eyes. “You say that, but then you waste your time on her over and over. You’re together. You’re not together. You’re together…which is it? Because it was not Amber’s car parked in your driveway last week.”
He shrugs. “Yes, we’re on and off. Okay. But it doesn’t bother me, Chloé. I can take her or leave her. I don’t love her like that. I just hate seeing her with anyone else. I can’t explain it. It’s a territorial thing. And as for the other car…which one do you mean?”
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I can’t keep up with your throngs of women, Rock, and I don’t want to hear about them anymore. None of them. Nadie. Nyet. It’s getting icky. Is this what you needed to talk to me about?”
“Not really.” Rock can usually cover up anything with the flash of his smile, but tonight, he seems to waver. He says nothing else, closes his eyes.
I think I know where this is leading. So I redirect the conversation. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. Did you put a tarp on Lolita last week?”
He lifts his butt to take his phone from his back pocket. “Why would I do that?”
“Someone covered her so she wouldn’t get rained on. Someone trying to be nice, I guess.”
“Who would be nice to you?” He lies down flat, smiling in the dark.
“Exactly.” I bump his head with mine and try to imagine we are brother and sister, linked by astral cords. I’ve always wanted a close sibling, someone who would have a connection with me from birth, even if we were on opposite sides of the planet. What if I have one somewhere out there? Closer to me in age, that is. All the more reason to investigate my adoption case. I hope Baby Carl and Baby Sagan grow up to realize how lucky they are.
“Chloé, I have a question.” He rolls toward me and props up his head. The way he says my name makes my stomach clench. This brother-sister fantasy was—poof—over before it ever began.
“Yeeees?”
“The thing is…” His face moves in on mine, and suddenly I can totally relate to all the girls who fawn over him. His soft breathing warms my cheek. The hairs on my arm stand straight up. Good thing it’s too dark for him to see it.
“Rock,” I interrupt him before he throws himself to the wolves. As hot as he may be, I won’t play his game. “Amber dumped you. Now you’re seeking me out. It’s a pattern. Recognize it.”
“Recognize what?”
“That you always do this. Fall hard for girls who don’t care about you, then come crying when they drop you, acting like you want to be with me.”
He wipes caramel from my mouth with a finger and sucks it off. I do my best to ignore this gesture. “Maybe that’s because my experience with other girls reminds me that, in the end, you are the best.”
I push him back away. “Don’t complicate things.”
“I’m not complicating anything. It’s the truth.” His eyes are killing me. They’ve always held power over me, but this is ridiculous. Then he goes and says this: “I’m going to die alone unless you save me, Chloé.”
I look at him like the idiot he sometimes is. “Would you stop? You don’t need to be saved. You just need sense knocked into you.”
“Yes, and you’re the only one who can do that.” He traces my face with his finger. I hold my breath and try not to notice, but it’s like trying not to notice that a Greek god has landed in your bathtub.
“No, I’m not.”
“Fine. You’re the only one I’ll let do that.”
“That’s different.” I turn my face away from him and up to the skies, hoping he’ll do the same. “Isn’t this a beautiful night?”
“Chlo, you’re killing things.”
“What things, Rock?” I face him again, dead serious this time. “There aren’t any things. Things do not happen between us.” I know he loves me, and believe me, I love him too. But if we ever became boyfriend and girlfriend, it would never be the same again, and I don’t want to take that risk.
“Fine. Things do not happen between us,” he says in a mocking tone. We lie there, watching the sky for what seems a long time. “How about if you kiss me then?” he asks. “That’s all I want. One kiss.” His eyelashes lower slowly. How could anyone say no to him? He leans in with those gorgeous lips, and all I have to do is touch them with mine to send him home happy. It’s just hard to do when you don’t know where else those lips have been today.
I’ve only kissed Rock twice before. Once when I was fifteen and I fell for his stupid “you are an amazing, amazing girl, you know that?” Then again last fall, when he brought a bottle of Parrot Bay out here and we actually tried counting all the stars, stopping around 284. That night I thought for a nanosecond that he was the best thing that had ever happened to me. But I had been coping with Seth’s death and clearly wasn’t thinking straight. Especially when it hit me: This is Rock I’m kissing. And hadn’t he just told me about the twenty-year-old Pilates instructor he’d been with a few hours earlier? I remember sobering up real quick.
Before I can overanalyze the moment any longer, his lips touch mine—soft, warm, perfect. I wish I could say it’s terrible, that there’s nothing between us whatsoever, but I can’t. Rock kisses sooo nice. I had forgotten. He is entirely more sensitive than girls give him credit for. Some people have said that we’re a perfect match because of his love of cars and my love of riding, but I just don’t see it. I have way more things I want to discuss with a boyfriend besides carburetors and firing time.
I think of Gordon and our charged conversations. I want something like that, but without all the hostility. And hig
hlighters. And righteous attitudes. Forget it. I obviously can’t think with this beautiful man kissing me.
Rock pulls back, and his eyes search my face. “You’re not into this. You don’t think I’m the one for you, do you?”
I take a good look at him. I see a wonderful guy, misguided though he may be—one who’s always been there for me. But I’ve lost count of how many girls—women—he’s been with. And I just cannot be with a player like him.
“I never said that.” I turn my eyes back to Arcturus and the Milky Way, now becoming visible after settling on the horizon all winter long. “I just don’t think it’s that simple. Real love—soul mates—are very rare. Some people meet theirs when they’re already old, and some people aren’t lucky enough to meet theirs at all.”
We’re quiet for a minute while he thinks about this. Maybe he’s amused that I could be so skeptical. Or maybe I’ve shocked him into seeing the inevitable truth—that Rock is my best friend—no more, no less.
“Chloé Rodriguez.” He sighs softly, closing his eyes. “You are one cynical little girl with your ‘don’t think’ and your theories.”
Somewhere in the darkness, a frog agrees with him. “Yeah? Well, at least I won’t be going around my whole life living in total disillusionment, wondering why I haven’t met my soul mate yet. At least I’ll be realistically happy, not searching for anything out of this world.”
His soft laugh vibrates next to me—a sad, sympathetic laugh. He can laugh all he wants, but on some deeper level, he knows I’m right.
Rock rolls onto his back and stretches his arms behind his head. He shuts his eyes against the flickering of a billion suns, as if Earth holds all the secrets he’ll ever need. “With the way you come out here every night, baby doll,” he says, sighing, “you could’ve fooled me.”
Eight
Over the weekend, it rains nonstop. Again. This would be a great time to try to finish working on Lolita’s leak in the garage, but once again, Rock’s not answering my texts or calls. What is up with that boy? I sulk in my room, watching reruns of old shows and thinking about Friday night at the Murphys’ dock. I can’t believe he’s ignoring me. Like he’s such a relationships expert! Maybe he finally realized it takes more than sex to have a connection with someone and can’t stand that it won’t be me.
He should’ve quit while he was ahead, brought me the flan, and just talked about pistons. But noo, he just had to ruin it. Bad Rock. Bad, bad Rock. Ah, but that kiss! How could I call that ruining it? Shake it off, Chloé.
And what about Gordon? He’d better have a good reason for not calling, after I invited him somewhere on a weekend. That’s what I get for giving two hoots about him.
I decide to forget about men altogether by logging a few hours at my computer. After the usual site hangouts, I stare at the empty search box and try to think of something besides sky patterns to research. Before I even know what I’m doing, I slowly type adoption agencies Florida, and my heart starts to beat a little faster. So many choices appear, but I can’t seem to click on any of them.
Why do I care? What do I expect to find?
Well, for one, what if I have a brother or sister? Someone besides the babies, even though I love them, but God forgive me for saying this—someone who is blood related. Wouldn’t I want to know that?
The rain hits my window almost horizontally, as if someone were sloshing it with big buckets of water. I’m mesmerized by the fluid swirls it creates as it glides down the glass.
What if I end up with an illness like Seth years from now? What if I need a blood transfusion from someone whose DNA is similar to mine? Aren’t these good-enough reasons to search for my birth parents, or am I just rationalizing the simple fact that I want to know because I simply want to know?
My brain hurts. And the guilt I feel for thinking that I’m betraying Mom and Papi hits me so hard, I totally erase the search from my browser history, turn off the computer, and go see if any laundry needs doing.
Monday morning.
Rock is not asleep on my front porch. He is not there at all, and we’re already late for school. Is he mad? Because he has no right to be. I didn’t do anything to him. Did I? I guess today’s street ballet will be a solo act. Again.
At school, I pull out Lolita’s kickstand and feel her weight as I lean her over. Scattered thunderstorms are predicted again for later this afternoon. Maybe that tarp wasn’t such a bad idea. Up ahead, Vincent strolls onto campus, cigarette over his left ear as usual. He reaches the covered walkway when a girl jumps out from behind a column and attacks him with a huge kiss on the lips. I walk faster, trying to beat the bell, but then I notice who the girl is and slow down.
Blond hair, black ends. Amber.
Shitsters. Rock was right.
Freakin’ Vincent. King Doof.
I’m surprised and yet…I’m not. If anyone likes to sample the variety here at Everglades High, it’s Amber. And Vince is probably just happy to have Amber paying him any attention. Still, why do I feel like going over there and yanking her hair? Why doesn’t she just leave Rock and Vince alone?
Vincent sees me and waves. Now I have to act nice. “Hey, Chlo. Heard you’re getting tutored by that Russian dude.”
“Who told you that?” Not that getting tutored is a big deal to Vincent, but still, I didn’t go around broadcasting it.
“His ex—what’s her name, Sabine?” he asks Amber.
“Yeah. She was talking to her friend in the office when I was getting a late pass,” Amber says, as if I asked her. “Apparently, she thinks you guys have a little more than chemistry tutoring going on, if you know what I mean.” She laughs like such a lecherous fool, I want to slap her.
“Why would she think that?” I ask, remembering the way Sabine had looked over at Gordon and me last week. It’s not like I have FREE SEX stamped on my forehead. Geez, talk about hypersensitive.
“I don’t know, but you could’ve asked me for tutoring, Chloé. I would’ve schooled you.” Vince joins the lecher-speak, and now I want to slap them both.
“Ha, ha. Funny. I’ll see you guys later.” I try escaping before awkwardity immobilizes me.
But Vince goes on. “Listen, we’re having a party Saturday night at Amber’s place.”
They’re having a party together already? God, that’s so cute! Not. I register the momentary look of worry on Amber’s face. You know, maybe I should go to this party just to piss her off. “Really? What time?” I pretend to be totally interested.
Amber cuts Vincent off before he can do any more damage. “Anytime after nine. But if you can’t make it, we’ll totally understand.”
“Oh, no,” I say. “I’m pretty sure I can make it. I can bring friends, right?” Wouldn’t she just love me and Rock at her party? I wait, eyebrows raised.
“Whoever, dude,” Vincent answers on her behalf, ringing her shoulders with his arm. “Bring your tutor.” He laughs out loud. I can’t imagine Gordon would ever want to go to a party with me. He’d probably feel like he’d been teleported onto another planet.
I smile. I wonder how people do it. How Amber can move on to Vincent when he’s one of our buddies and obviously knows about her and Rock’s jagged past, and how Vince can go for it. I know it’d make me crazy, if the guy I was seeing had been with another girl not long before and that girl talked about it like it was nothing. “Thanks, guys. I’ll see you later.”
Vince gives me a peace sign. He seems happy, but I don’t know. I wave at them and veer off toward first period. Should I call Rock and tell him what just happened? Would he even care, now that he thinks I’m his soul mate?
I decide to call anyway. He doesn’t answer. As usual. “Call me,” I say when his voice mail picks up. “I have things to say.”
“Chlo-ou-éee?” I hear an impatient voice calling. Crap.
“Oui, Madame Jordan?” I reply, turning toward her classroom.
“Don’t Oui, Madame Jordan me. Why are you late again?”
I reac
h her and stamp a kiss on her cheek. “Because mornings like today’s are few and far between, so we must stop to smell the palm trees?” I say in French.
“Don’t sass me, little girl.”
I take off running. “Je t’aime, Marraine.” Godmothers are godmothers for a reason. They can’t get angry at you. It would be totally against Jesus’s wishes.
“Oui, you’d better be raising that grade with Monsieur Rooney, insolent child.” Then she’s mumbling something in French again as she withdraws into her classroom.
I run up the stairs, hurrying now because luck can’t possibly be on my side every day of my life, and I am not mentally disposed to reciting any gases today, much less the noble ones. I take the stairs two at a time, feeling the awesome burn in my quads, when all of a sudden…he’s there.
Say hello, keep it cool…
I slow down. From the look of it, Gordon is wearing new sneaks today. “Mr. Spudanka! Are you delivering another package to Henley’s class?” I smile sarcastically.
“Spudinka,” he corrects me, smiling the same way he did all last week in the hall. There’s something about seeing a usually serious person smile. Their whole face lights up. My eyes are drawn to him, even though I will so be asking for it when I walk through Rooney’s door.
“Right, that’s what I meant.” I also see he’s achieving a “chic-geek” look today. Still nerdy but somehow more aware of himself. What is this je ne sais quoi quality? Is his hair tousled differently? Or is it simply that Gordon is quite handsome upon closer inspection, in a young Ryan Reynolds sort of way?
“Sorry I didn’t call you this weekend.” He gives me a sheepish grin.
“What…the…oh, you mean…Hey, don’t worry about it. I actually had tons of stuff to do.” And by tons of stuff, I mean napping.
“Yeah, me too. I got caught up studying for a calculus test.”
I stand there half smirking, half smiling…smirkling. He stands there smirkling too. We smirkle quite a bit. “Well, I gotta…” I say, pointing to Rooney’s door. “You know…”
